


I Burn a Fever that I Caught from You

by quixoticquest



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Drinking, Eddie centric, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Paranoia, Pining, Songfic, Spring Break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 01:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15207437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixoticquest/pseuds/quixoticquest
Summary: Eddie's back in Derry for Spring Break his sophomore year of college, and dying to see Richie Tozier again, who left him with a kiss and a ton of questions the day he moved to New York. Problem is, Richie's either moved on, or forgotten the kiss entirely.So what does Eddie do? Steal Richie's bike, of course.Based on Fever by Carly Rae Jepsen.





	I Burn a Fever that I Caught from You

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the first IT fic I ever wrote, back in November, and I just all of a sudden decided to finish it and revise it. So it might be garbage but hey. I love Carly Rae Jepsen.  
> Also since this was written half in November, it sort of conflicts with one of the deleted scenes (you'll know which one it is when you get to it), just a heads up. Since those aren't really canon though I decided to keep it in.  
> Also also, the entire Emotion album by Carly Rae is a fucking masterpiece, go listen to it. She doesn't get enough love.

Eddie Kaspbrak is an asshole. Surly, stubborn, squeamish, and not at all charming. His hangups are many, and his joys few. But he was not above gripping a friend he hadn’t seen in four years around the shoulders for a hug tight enough to vibrate in their bones.

“Missed you, too,” Bill said on a chuckle, hands curled tightly in the back of Eddie’s jacket. Eddie could tell Bill had meant to say something teasing or sarcastic. So had he.

For all their fervor, they separated quickly, suddenly self-conscious in a town that did a good job of stifling enthusiasm. The sensation of the cotton of Bill’s T-shirt and his warm shoulder beneath it lingered against Eddie’s chin like a ghost. But Bill was real, in-focus, solid. Not a voice over the phone, or tight script on a letter.

Silence ensued. Not awkward, but tense all the same, like they didn’t know what to say. Eddie sure as hell didn’t.

“Welcome back!” Bill finally offered with half-hearted energy, which was all anyone could really muster about Derry anyway. Eddie managed a laugh and a reserved smile. The whistle blew behind him, and the train left to bring the rest of its passengers to bigger and better places.

Derry Depot was just as dilapidated as it had always been. Chipped paint and wooden slats worn down at the edges came together to create a little shack of a building hardly any larger than a toll booth, where dirty gravel separated rusty tracks from the concrete foundation. It barely met the qualifications for a train station, but some place had to serve as the waypoint for all poor souls bound for Derry, Maine.

When he stepped off the commuter, Eddie might as well have stepped back into the eighties; four years and a few hundred miles weren’t able to shake the nasty feeling of Derry instilled in him far before he left. Even nostalgia couldn’t quite mask the ominous air hanging over the small town.

What finally brought him back to the present, of all things, was what brought him back here in the first place: Bill Denbrough, an older version of the dear friend Eddie had tucked away in his mind. He wore his hair almost the same way he did when they were thirteen, but seemed to have decided that he didn’t want bangs. Still tall and skinny, but puberty had been kind. Eddie was pleased to see that now, he could hold a candle to Bill’s height - not a very tall candle, but a substantial one nonetheless. Especially compared to the pipsqueak he used to be.

Soon enough Eddie was dumping his duffel bag and backpack full of homework he didn’t plan on doing into Bill’s Ford Fiesta, and joining him up front in the passenger’s seat - another weird sensation. Eddie couldn’t even remember them being in a car together, let alone in the front seats, behind the wheel.

“So, not everyone could make it,” Bill explained as the Ford stuttered to life, glancing around windows and mirrors as he pulled away from Derry Depot. “Ben’s in Nebraska, y’know, and Bev-” He huffed through his nose, and shrugged. Best he could with two hands on the wheel, anyway. “She’s got all those design school friends, they’re all partying instead of heading home. But who can blame her? Frankly I’m surprised _you’re_ here.”

“Well I’m the whole reason the gang’s coming back together, aren’t I?” Eddie stared out the window, head tipped toward the cool glass. Outside, the train yard passed by, along with the Gospel Church, and all the damn grass Derry had to offer. Compared to New York, his hometown seemed empty and unfinished.

“Most of it anyway.” Bill chuckled. “Still, can’t believe you managed to swing it.”

“Me neither.” For two weeks, Sonia Kaspbrak would be gone on a cruise she won in some magazine sweepstakes. Those two weeks just so happened to line up with Eddie’s Spring Break. At first Eddie panicked, knowing the dorms at school would be closed with zero exceptions, and he wasn’t keen on joining the sort-of friends he had at Baruch for some fling at the Jersey Shore (not after last year). Thank God he had been on the phone with Bill to complain, and that the Denbroughs were willing to put up with him for a week. _And_ that his mom finally acknowledged him as a capable adult, enough to let him make a substantial decision for once in his life.

“How come you didn’t go to some beach or another?” Eddie accused, turning his head when he got tired of Derry’s flat landscape. “With your friends from school.”

Bill threw his chin back for a staccato _Ha!_ “Yeah, I’m making tons of friends, sitting in my dorm hunched over my manuscript. Not to mention - Losers Reunion? Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Even if it is just you, me, Mike, Stan, and Richie.”

_Whoomp, there it is_ . Eddie didn’t think Richie _wouldn’t_ drop everything for one last hurrah like this, but up until now, it had all been speculation. Ifs and maybes, hoping the whole gang would finally be together again. This outcome was a few fries short of a Happy Meal, but everyone could have been missing, fucked off to beaches on the other side of the world, and Eddie would still be quietly reeling in his seat when Bill said _his_ name.

He felt dumb for even fixating on it, but that was Richie’s fault. It had been his fault for four whole years, starting back when tenth grade had ended and everyone but Eddie had a whole summer of fun ahead of them. He told Richie not to show up at his house that morning, with the U-haul out front, because they didn’t need to be distracted by wellwishers. He’d told him not to toss his bike on the lawn, he had a kickstand for a reason. He had never told Richie not to plant a big, uncoordinated kiss on his lips. Eddie hadn’t exactly been banking on him doing something like that, ever.

“What’s everyone been up to?” he asked carefully, drawn back by the textured plastic of the dashboard, rattling over potholes. Trying very hard not to sound like he cared a little bit more about one over the others.

“I’m not sure. You can ask them tonight,” Bill answered. “At the Barrens. I mean we’re all in the general vicinity, but we don’t hang out very much. As much as we should.”

With Bill going to school in Bangor, able to commute if he really wanted to (he didn’t), there was no excuse - but then, there really wasn’t one for Eddie, either. All it took was to hop on a train, like he just had that morning, on a Friday afternoon after class, and he could be back in Derry. He lived on campus, his mom would never know.

But he couldn’t. Didn’t. Whatever you wanted. A town away or four hundred miles, it didn’t matter.

Eddie didn’t want to think about his failed obligation to his friends anymore. Or Richie. Not until he was right in front of him anyway. Lord knows he had spent the better part of the last four years trying to unravel the guy from five states away.

“Your stutter is gone,” he decided to say, as if realizing for the first time. Bill had been speaking smooth and steady since they met at the train station.

“Oh, yeah! Thanks for noticing.” He flashed a smile, a little more bashful than it was proud. “Derry High finally got a speech therapist junior year. She was a big help.”

“What was that thing you used to say?” Eddie inclined his head toward the window. Sometime, when he hadn’t been paying attention, they wound up in suburban Derry. Another blast from the past. “To help with it. Something about ghosts.”

“Oh, gosh. I don’t remember.”

“Are you serious?”

“It sounds familiar, but…”

“You’d start saying it when we were winding down. Your mom told you to say it. I can’t believe I remember and you don’t.”

They pulled up to a red light, just in time for Bill to shrug helplessly. “Didn’t exactly help, if I needed a speech therapist all the way into high school. Probably didn’t bother to remember.

Eddie sank back against the headrest. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had imagined the half-remembered phrase, heard it somewhere else, maybe. His childhood in Derry was a little foggy, but certain things - he liked to think, the important ones - were very vivid.

“It rhymed,” he tried, uselessly. “Ghosts, posts, something. I don’t know.”

“Oh, wait! Yes, I think I remember now…”

_He shouldn’t have to think_ , Eddie thought to himself miserably.

***

Bill didn’t mention anything peculiar about the “newly refurbished” guest room at the end of the second floor hallway, and Eddie didn’t bring it up, just deposited his stuff there when Bill told him to make himself at home. Between changing out of his seven-hour-train-ride clothes, a quick nap, and catching up at the kitchen table, the sun set low enough to signal their departure. There was no reason to fear the Barrens at this hour - not for any irrational means. Not for several years, anyway.

A pack of heavy aluminum cans lurched into his arms, since Bill had the trusty task of carrying the flashlight. It appeared that at some point, all of them started drinking booze. For fun, in secret, at parties, with cigarettes, what have you. Eddie didn’t know because he hadn’t been there. He had his first drink all the way in New York, alone.

With their destination close enough that driving was pointless, they walked the ten minutes to the Barrens. The eventual end of traffic barrier indicated the best place to enter from, and Bill’s flashlight lit up the trees that sloped down toward the river in spindly, overlapping shadows.

If he was supposed to feel panic or dread, it was all washed out by an anxious flutter that settled in his stomach, as if those emotions had only been an echo of what he felt here five years ago. For all intents and purposes, the Barrens was a safe place to reunite with his friends. But fuck if that wasn’t the scariest part.

Bill led the way, Eddie trudging along behind him with the beer, ignoring the dull ache in his right arm under the weight. Tall grass slid against his jeans, and not his shirt, like before. They had only to walk past the treeline to find the cluster of flashlights where the grass leveled off, like some kind of modern-age campfire.

There were three figures huddled around the light, a low hum of conversation dying at the sight of Bill and Eddie. They climbed to their feet, offering a chorus of greeting, triangled toward the two who had just arrived - Richie happened to make up the point of the triangle, whipping around as fast as he could on uneven ground.

“Billy boy! In the flesh,” he gushed, leaving Eddie to wonder if Bill really hadn’t bothered to catch up with anyone in Derry since leaving for college. Richie straightened his glasses, more for effect than actual cause. “Who’s your buddy?”

Eddie felt like he had been punched in the gut. First Bill, now Richie - wait.

“Don’t tell me - is that…?”

“You fucking-”

“This svelte young thing couldn’t _possibly_ be - no - but it is! Ladies and gentleman, for one week and one week only, straight outta New York City, live in Derry, Maine! Back and better than ever, the _one_ , the _only_ -!”

“I thought you would have grown up while I was gone you shithead!” Eddie shoved the twelve pack against Richie’s chest, effectively silencing him with an _oof_. Eddie felt weightless, and not just because he had shed a couple pounds instantaneously.

Richie split into a lopsided grin, all at once familiar and foreign. His features fit better on his face, nothing too big or too small. His jaw wasn’t so nonexistent anymore. Lips still pink as ever against his pale skin, thick black hair that just threatened to be curly, framing his cheeks and brow. And nothing could be done about the square coke bottle glasses, magnifying his eyes comically. You’d think he might have graduated to contacts or more stylish specs.

“I’m just kidding, Eds,” he said, in a normal speaking voice. Almost quiet. “Welcome back.”

To say Eddie was relieved was an understatement, a little embarrassed that he had jumped to conclusions so quickly. But on top of those at-odds emotions was the acute sensation running circles around his brain, of _Oh, fuck._

“Thank god you brought beer,” Mike said from across the flashlights, jabbing a thumb toward Richie. “This dumbass showed up with a backpack full of hard liquor.”

“I took advantage of what was available to me!” Richie exclaimed, turning fully away from Eddie, bringing the world back into focus with him. “My dad gave up on his basement mini-bar project and this was left, forgotten. Neglected! You should be thanking me! I’m a hero to the ASPCA - American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Alcohol.”

For the first time, Eddie got a load of Stan and Mike on the far side, at least enough to register their faces and clothes and bodies in general. Stan was the first to come over, but Mike wasn’t far behind, all smiles and carefully concealed excitement. Had they all gotten too old and too cool for whooping and hollering?

Eddie got a hug from each of them, but since Richie had already wasted his breath on bullshit, and Eddie had punished him with the cans, their moment vanished. That was fine, understandable (if overanalyzed out the wazoo).

At least until Richie set the twelve-pack down so he could throw his arms around Bill.

Two new points joined the triangle as they all shuffled to sit down, Eddie settled squarely between Bill and Richie, which he decided was appropriate. If he thought his candle was short compared to Bill, it might as well have been a puddle of wax next to Richie and all his lank. Sitting gave Eddie some leverage, at least; Richie’s length was centered in his limbs, all folded up on each other so he could sit without bumping knees or elbows. Eddie wasn’t sure he would have minded though.

“Okay fellas, let’s pace ourselves,” Richie drawled out, bending at the waist to pull a beer out of the plastic rings. “The night is young, and I know once you start you’re stuck on Energizer Bunny mode, Mike.”

“When did you guys start drinking?” Eddie asked, as the twelve-pack shifted from one Loser to another. He tried not to sound incredulous, but if he was having trouble linking his friends as kids to his friends now, who could blame him?

“Not super long after you left,” Mike answered. “Beverly visited for the summer. She came bearing gifts.”

“Why do you ask, Edward?” Richie, again. “Don’t tell me you went all the way to the Big Apple and you’re still a prude.”

“I _told_ you, it wasn’t worth pissing my mom off. And do you know how many pill bottles I had that said ‘Warning, do not consume alcohol when taking this medication?’”

“...How many?”

“All of them!”

“Well, that was then.” Richie grinned, but had he ever stopped? “This is now.”

Some combination of defiance, proof, and maybe even a little craving for approval propelled Eddie’s hand into the twelve-pack, wiggling a can free to crack back the tab and take the first sip. He wasn’t a prude, he told himself, and it _was_ _thanks_ to the Big Apple - or more specifically, college. But telling the group (Richie specifically) fell a little too far past the line he drew between proving himself and getting worked up over nothing.

A few giggles of astonishment rang out, but no additional wisecrack, like Eddie expected. Before he choked and spit all over himself from his prolonged sip, he dropped the can between his legs, and wiped the bitter taste off his lips.

“Where’s the pack, Kaspbrak?” Richie said instead, patting the space where his own white T-shirt overlapped his shorts. He was gonna get bit up by mosquitoes. And then complain about it.

“Oh. That thing? I don’t need it anymore.” Eddie tried to play it off, cool as a cucumber, but the put-upon gasps and noises of appall coaxed a grin out of him. “I’m off my meds. Still got the inhaler, though. Emergencies only.”

“Hallelujah, he’s been cured!” Richie threw his long arms up to the heavens. “It’s a miracle.”

“Not completely cured,” Stan piped in, and even Eddie couldn’t help but roll his eyes. If only he could tell whether his asthma was tried-and-true, or his brain just wasn’t strong enough to shake it. They hadn’t covered that in Psych 101.

They all went around talking about what they had been doing with their lives, just as interested in what everyone had to say as in talking about themselves. Mike was going to Derry Community but hadn’t quite figured out what he wanted to do there yet, except get out of the family business. Stan was there too, but had plans to transfer credits or something. He wanted to be an accountant (well, _wanted_ was a strong word). Bill, of course, was sitting pretty at Husson, churning out between classes what he hoped would be a novel. Richie, on the other hand, hadn’t done much of anything.

“Now I know working at 7-Eleven doesn’t _sound_ glamorous, boys, but let me tell you, it has its perks,” he began, with all the gusto of a realtor. “You got good hours, you got free product - you got free _Slurpees-_ ”

“And how much do you get paid?” Stan asked point-blank, deadpan.

“Enough to get my van, I’ll have you know!” Richie scoffed and shook his head dramatically, _tsk_ ing all the while. “You don’t have to start accounting me, Staniel, I haven’t even hired ya.”

“What about you, Eddie?” Mike asked, either an effort to fill awkward silence or stop an argument before it started. “You gotta be doing better than us.”

And here, Eddie had been relieved that he wasn’t the only one who seemed to have settled on the mundane after high school. “Well, I go to Baruch,” he said with a shrug, balancing his beer on his knee with both hands. They probably expected NYU or Columbia or some shit. “Just for business, nothing special. Seemed like the easiest thing to do.”

He didn’t mention that, try as he might to research schools closer to Derry, his mom was only willing to finance his education so long as he stayed in the city.

Richie groaned and tossed his arms in the air. “New York is squandered on the likes of you. Now me? _I_ should be in New York. Always wanted to go there. Could get started at comedy club or something. Fuck, I could start anywhere! See me working the corners one minute, plastered across Times Square the next.”

“Yeah, with your mugshot,” Bill snorted, and the expected laughter ensued.

They went on some more, hard liquor eventually mingling among the collecting beer cans, even though they had to crack the tops open with Stan’s belt buckle because Richie forgot a bottle opener. Somehow, in the middle of it all, Eddie felt...ignored. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it? Just like old times. He hadn’t been around his friends for four fucking years, so that had to account for something. Right?

But see, that wasn’t entirely true. Everyone was perfectly interested in him, as much as they were in each other. And yet, one of the Losers wasn’t quite living up to the hype Eddie had managed to conjure in his mind over the last few years.

His glorious reunion with Richie Tozier was severely lacking. Which wouldn’t even be a fucking issue if Eddie hadn’t caught whatever fever propelled Richie to kiss him way back when.

That was the only way he could describe it. Eddie was pretty familiar with sickness after all, psychosomatic or otherwise. Fevers were hot and uncomfortable, and that’s what happened when he swapped spit with Richie. A bloodborne pathogen. Probably caused abnormal behavior - _symptoms include confusion, skewed judgement, urge to kiss friends_. He thought writing about it might help, but all those letters ended up in a shoebox in Eddie’s bedroom (and then dorm room since he couldn’t trust his mother). If only he could take an aspirin to make it go away.

The fact of the matter was, Eddie had fallen hard for the dumbass spewing nonsense next to him, and no amount of self-aware fever metaphors could keep him from tuning in to Richie’s casual interactions. Whatever he expected to be different, wasn’t.

“Any Big Apple beauties caught your fancy, Eds?” Richie asked. Try as he might, Eddie didn’t hear a single trace of anything ulterior in Richie’s tone.

He finished off his second beer, and between begrudging hits from the bottle of Jack Daniels, his head was starting to swim. “Uh, not really.” Technically, it was a lie, but now wasn’t the time to argue semantics with himself, with the others going on about the _girls_ they had met over the years. “I know there’s this girl in my Econ class, Myra. I think she has a thing for me. But I dunno about following through or anything.” Eddie wrinkled his nose. “She reminds me of my mom.”

“Gross, they’re multiplying,” Richie said, sticking out his tongue.

“Last thing you need is another woman like that running your life,” Bill added.

“Mrs. K, two-point-oh.”

“You marry her, and the cycle continues.”

“And at the wedding, I get ahold of _both_ Mrs. Ks, and find a nice little broom closet-”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

“I told you guys, I’m not into her,” Eddie stated, eying the circle of boys - men, come to think of it. His gaze finally fell on Richie, and before anything else could be said about the matter, the four-eyes clapped his hands together. A punctuation.

“Well, I’ve been polite, let you guys go first. Now about _my_ passionate love life,” Richie exclaimed - groans ensued. The last thing Eddie wanted to hear about. And not just because of his big dumb crush.

It took half his third can of beer for him decide this reunion wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Listening to his friends argue about what they did and didn’t remember certainly helped him along too.

“I think I’m gonna turn in, guys.” He didn’t even bother to finish his drink before lumbering to his feet, where gravity decided to have a field day with his perception.

“Damn, already?” Mike asked.

“Eddie, dear friend, I thought you said you weren’t a prude,” Richie cooed over the bottle of whiskey.

It was almost enough to bring Eddie back on his butt in the grass, or to have him spit something back at Richie, but he resisted, and shook his head. To think his breath was coming faster just because of the word _friend_. “I’m exhausted. Seven hour train ride.”

“Yikes.” Mike.

“You should get some rest. There’s plenty of time to hang out the rest of the week.” Stan.

“There’s a spare key under the door. Try not to wake my folks up, okay?” Bill.

“See you next time, Spaghetti.” Richie.

“I’ll be fine. See you guys.” Eddie lingered a while, staring at the side of Richie’s head, lined in gold from the flashlights. Finally he lifted his legs enough to wade through the grass, and turned to make his way back up to the road.

Halfway up, he realized he hadn’t grabbed a flashlight of his own. Luckily the streetlights of Derry were kind at this hour, kinder than certain parts of New York - even if the dark played tricks on him that he hadn’t been subject to in years.

***

It was just cool enough that his jacket was barely necessary, perfect for shoving his hands in the pockets as he trudged along. Some things never changed; he fell into the role of wet blanket perfectly, just like before. If only other things were so resolute.

Detouring _away from_ Niebolt Street took Eddie through Richie’s neighborhood, and past his house. Just as average as any other on the block, offering the illusion of normalcy, just like the others. The grass was a little long and the siding could use a paint job but otherwise, normal nuclear family. Just like Eddie remembered. Unless he didn’t, actually.

The same sedan sat in the driveway, right next to a Volkswagen van that Eddie had never seen before. Richie’s bike was tossed on the yard, per usual, with no garage to keep it in. Whenever he had dropped it there, it had probably been a long time ago; stalks of grass curled around the wheel spokes. Specks of rust covered the metal frame.

In Psych 101, Eddie had learned that when people, children especially, were not given adequate attention, they would try to get that attention by other means. Even bad attention was better than nothing. Eddie stood in front of the house of someone who did the same damn thing. And hell, it worked wonders.

Before he registered that he’d even stopped outside the Tozier house at all, he was crossing the lawn, trespassing, for all intents and purposes. Though confident no one would know, or care. He stooped, grabbed Richie’s bike by the handles, and dragged it back to the road. Little weeds and pieces of grass were stuck in the wheels, but it seemed to function, when he got the tires on the asphalt.

With both hands, Eddie could cover the whole worn leather seat. One time, he sat here behind Richie, half his ass falling off the damn thing, as Richie pedalled frantically, almost standing. Eddie could cling for dear life to the back of Richie’s shirt with only his left arm, the other clutched limp against his chest. Every jostle or bump had him gulping back the sobs that threatened to climb out of his throat. He wasn’t about to cry in front of his friends. Everyone else managed to hold it together.

He couldn’t believe he remembered all that. He couldn’t even remember Bill’s bike’s name, or Stan’s birthday, or Richie’s favorite flavor of ice cream. But he remembered that indescribable pain.

Eddie doubted they would both fit now. They barely fit back then. But when he swung his leg over Richie’s bike and nestled onto the flat stool, it seemed he would do just fine on his own.

He pressed his sneaker into the closest pedal and pushed off - wobbling down the street for a couple of seconds before settling. Apparently, you _could_ forget how to ride a bike. Apparently, you could forget a lot of things.

Only the sounds of the turning wheels and Eddie’s even breathing filled the empty street, as he moved faster than he’d ever manage walking. Eddie fell more times than he would like to admit, crashing into a lawn, usually the curb, the alcohol running through his system to blame. Foggily familiar streets reeling by his peripherals, warped by the dark. They almost never rode at night, back then, but he wondered if he pedalled hard enough, went around the turns sharp enough, he might catch up to some phantom of the seven of them, wheeling through Derry without a care in the world.

Instead, Eddie was alone, without even a car to pass him by. The cool air whipped at his face, chilling his skin and tousling his hair. But by the time he reached Bill’s house, he still felt sick.

***

Rapt knocking finally dragged Eddie out of his drunken slumber, immediately regretting every decision from the night before, since the sun decided it was a good time to bore into his eyes from beyond the bedroom window. He half expected to hear his RA yelling “Safety checks!”, but it took only a few seconds to judge the room wasn’t his dorm. The bed was far more comfortable.

“Eddie? You up?” Bill called from the other side of the wood panel. Without even a bedside clock to determine what time it was, only the angle of the remorseless sun, Eddie lumbered out of bed, pausing when his stomach threatened to launch its contents up his throat. He was still dressed in his clothes from yesterday, jeans rumpled to hell and shirt tugged around enough to expose his clavicle. At least his jacket had managed to make it onto the bedpost.

Recovered, Eddie shuffled to the door, head pressed against the wall as he cracked it open. Thankfully the hallway was much dimmer than the guest room.

“What?”

Bill looked just about as disgusting as Eddie felt, hair flat and mussed, dark circles under his eyes. He had been out for longer, and Eddie could only imagine how unpleasant waking up had been for their determined leader.

“You look like shit,” Bill mentioned.

“So do you,” Eddie grumbled. They couldn’t keep from smiling outright, even as his organs continued to roil.

“Listen. I have a weird question.”

“Well spit it out. You don’t stutter so there’s no excuse anymore.” Eddie would have really liked to search out a medicinal remedy to his hangover at that point, but Bill was always worthy of his undivided attention.

“Okay.” Bill lifted his hand to his forehead, rubbing circles with a slow sigh. “I went out to the garage, this morning, to put the flashlight back. And I was a little surprised, because there was a random bike sitting next to Silver.”

Eddie’s heart crawled into his throat. Now, he thought, he might actually puke, as his dramatic kleptomaniacal stunt came crashing into the forefront of his thoughts.

“Do you know anything about it?” Bill asked, brow drawn.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie began. Fuck, he couldn’t lie to Big Bill. “It’s Richie’s.”

That probably wasn’t very helpful, on any front, and Bill blinked, obviously confused. “What?”

“I got tired of walking. It was just laying there, at his house.” Okay, maybe he could lie to Big Bill. “I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal if I borrowed it. He’s got that stupid van now anyway.”

“You stole Richie’s bike?”

“ _Borrowed!_ ” The last thing Eddie needed was to feel like he had killed a man and was begging Bill to help him hide the body.

Either it really was the dumbest thing Eddie had ever done, or it was still too early and Bill was still too groggy to process, face twisting and untwisting with every consideration. To his defense, Eddie couldn’t really think of what he’d say if it were the other way around.

“Okay,” Bill finally murmured, stepping away. “You’re gonna give it back, right? I don’t want to be responsible for it after you leave.”

“I got it covered, don’t worry.” Eddie worried enough for both of them.

That at least, was enough to get Bill off his back, mentioning something about breakfast as he lumbered away, taking the stairs carefully. As soon as he was out of sight, Eddie bolted for the bathroom, and did whatever he had to to keep from dying at that very moment.

He had actually stolen Richie’s fucking bike. It seemed like a good idea to him, somehow. Even drunk people were smarter than this! What kind of idiot stole a teenage boy’s most prized possession?

Except they weren’t teenagers, Eddie remembered. And things like cars and jobs took way more precedent over a bicycle.

After two Tylenol that paled in comparison to the laundry list of medication Eddie used to have to take on a daily basis, Eddie decided he better get some food in his body, whether that was cereal or chips. Just something to carry the pain relievers along.

It turned out to be pancakes, he realized, before even entering the kitchen. The smell from the stairs was unmistakable, and Bill presented him with options for both chocolate chip and blueberry. Hungover, making pancakes on Spring Break at noon. Bill was far stronger than the rest of them.

“Do you want to do anything today?” he asked, passing along the syrup when Eddie gestured toward it.

“Not really.” If Eddie had any hope of recovering to have fun for the rest of the week, he figured he ought to rest. Besides, he had already decided, bent over the toilet, that it was in his best interest to return Richie’s bike to him. Maybe have a conversation about kissing too.

“Then you don’t mind if I work on my manuscript, do you? No one’s really free today, I figured it was a good opportunity to get some stuff done.”

Eddie nodded, and couldn’t help but agree with the final statement. The rest of breakfast was spent chatting, reminiscing (when either of them could be bothered to remember things). Eddie helped Bill with the dishes, and eventually waved goodbye, as the aspiring-author shut himself up in his room to deal with grammar and syntax.

With a whole day ahead of him and nothing to do, Eddie was pretty eager to get going to Richie’s, and sort all this out. But that particular motivation ground to a halt the moment he stepped onto the porch, assaulted by the sunny sky, and completely undeserving of it. There was no way he could walk, or bike, with his head throbbing like this. Or have a conversation with Richie about anything, let alone kissing. Hell, Richie was a headache all on his own.

Resigned, Eddie returned to the guest room, figuring he better rest after all. It was at least easy enough to draw the blinds and turn out the light, burrowing into his pillow in hopes that everything would be better when he opened his eyes.

But when Eddie opened his eyes, not even sunlight filtered into the room. Sure, his headache had dulled, but as vague memories of tossing in and out of sleep accosted him, he pushed the flimsy blinds down with his finger, only to be faced with a violet sky, pushing toward blue.

“Oh, shit.” He really couldn’t trust anything, could he? Not even his internalized alarm clock could keep him up to snuff.

Luckily, winter hadn’t quite seeped out of spring yet, so he could trust that it was still fairly early, maybe seven o’clock. With no sign of Bill upstairs or downstairs, and not even the sound of his typewriter to go by, Eddie launched outside, scurrying into the garage to retrieve Richie’s bike and pedal off into the twilight.

Each heavy breath, spurred by his pumping legs and the wind against his face, worked Eddie up toward the inevitable culmination he surged toward. All he could do was picture Richie’s reaction. Maybe he’d be angry Eddie stole his bike, maybe just relieved it was back, but it would put him in prime position to talk about everything that happened.

_Why the fuck did you steal my bike?_

_Because you kissed me when I moved away!_

So it didn’t make perfect sense. So what? Richie Tozier hardly ever made sense, and Eddie was trying to beat him at his own game anyway.

Richie’s house grew in sight, finally, and Eddie braked hard, grinding the tires into the asphalt as his whole body jerked to a stop. At this hour, the windows were lit orange, evidence that the home was alive and present, and not a haunted reflection of Eddie’s memory. Maggie Tozier, infinitesimally changed, watered potted plants on the porch.

“Eddie Kaspbrak, is that you?” she called, balancing the watering can against the railing as Eddie jogged up the lawn. “I haven’t seen you in years! How’s your mother?”

“Fine,” Eddie puffed, still winded, calves aching - even from last night’s ride. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Sonia. “Is Richie here? I have to talk to him.”

“Richie’s at work, honey, I’m sorry,” she answered. “He left a couple hours ago.”

Eddie paused at the foot of the porch, dumbfounded. Sure enough - he realized, feeling stupider by the second - the van in the driveway was gone, without a trace. As if he had imagined it being there at all, despite Richie’s claims in the Barrens.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” he asked, feeling small, twelve years old again, looking up at Maggie Tozier as if to ask _Can Richie come play_?

“I don’t know his schedule, but he usually closes if he’s working this hour.”

Late then. Eddie knew better than to swear under his breath in front of Mrs. Tozier, as much as he wanted to, hands balling into fists at his sides.

“Did he mention anything,” he asked, one last ditch effort, “about losing something? Did he say he was missing something today?”

“Not that I can remember. Why, did he lose something? He’s always misplacing his things.”

“No,” Eddie replied, trying not to sound too miserable. Before he could come out of this any more pathetic than he already was, he started backwards, intent on leaving before Mrs. Tozier could recognize the bicycle. “Sorry to bother you.”

“No trouble at all! I’ll tell him you came by. It was nice seeing you!”

Even in the waning light, it was stifling hot. Eddie felt it in his cheeks, his ears, his chest, itchy and smothering, tangible embarrassment. Of course Richie didn’t notice his bike was gone. He had managed to forget about it entirely for the last four years.

Just like he forgot about Eddie.

***

That day, way back then, is far brighter than it deserves to be. People are out swimming and eating ice cream. Eddie is stuck hauling boxes out the front door.

The station wagon is stuffed to bursting, leaving Eddie with a growing sense of dread each time they add to it. Because once it’s full, that means they’re gone. The U-haul is packed, and all he has to do is grab his backpack out of the foyer. His bedroom, along with every room in the house, has been wiped clean, as if he had never been there at all.

Starting back inside to keep working at the dwindling pile of boxes, Eddie stops short at the sound of his name - or, rather, his not-name. An obnoxious version of his name, spouted off by its very creator.

“Eds!”

Richie veers into the driveway, hair flying back as his long legs hike up and down in circles. The tires are still moving when he jumps off, and the thing collapses across the Kaspbraks’ front lawn.

“What are you doing?!” Eddie seethes, whispering, at a loss of where to start. “If my mom comes, out, we’re both dead, you dumbass!”

“That sounds like a good way to go,” Richie says breathlessly, bent at the knees, chest heaving. How fast was he going? It hadn’t seemed like very much at all, but Eddie hurries over to Richie in the driveway, out of the line of sight offered by front windows and the door.

“Are you okay?”

“Better than ever, Spagheds. What do you think I am, some kind of invalid?” He goes for a voice that sounds kind of like Stan’s grandfather, the one time they happened to meet him.

“Then fuck off! I don’t want to get in trouble.” He doesn’t want Richie to get in trouble either.

“Oh come on, I’m already here, can’t I see you off?” Richie straightens to his full height finally, topping out Eddie, like always.

He wants to say yes. He wanted to invite all his friends to say goodbye, but Sonia is being more tyrannical than ever. Last day in Derry, and Eddie can’t even spend it with the only people he cares about.

“No,” he insists firmly, trying valiantly not to let all the anger and resentment swim in front of his eyes. This is the other reason he didn’t want an audience. “If she sees you, she’s gonna flip.” Of course it had to be Richie who broke the rules, her least favorite.

Richie looks put out behind his glasses, but that at least means he understands that this isn’t something he can just _yes_ his way into. In several hours, Eddie will be in New York, and there will be no way for Richie to sneak into his room or keep him out past curfew. This is it, and neither of them are prepared for it.

“Fine,” Richie answers, and it threatens to be cold, before he follows up with his usual fare of banter. “But if I can’t see you off, then I have no way of knowing you actually left. For all I know she’ll be keeping you locked in the basement. So that means I don’t have to say goodbye. That’s the rules.”

As dumb as it sounds, Eddie is willing to concede to that. He doesn’t want to say goodbye either. But before he can open his mouth to agree, he’s pulled forward by his arms, and kissed on the lips.

Eddie has only ever been kissed by his mother, and has no idea how to react, staring into the fuzzy space between their eyes. Richie’s glasses bump into his cheeks and forehead. His lips are puckered and frozen, squished against Eddie’s. Before the thought of being seen can creep into his mind though, Richie retreats, looking for all the world like just pulled off something clever - even with his eyes blown wide.

“No goodbyes!” he warns, finally heeding Eddie’s commands and returning to his bike. “I can’t hear you, not listening, la la la! _Hey where did we go! Days when the rains came! Down in the hollow! Playing a new game!_ ”

Richie is wheeling down the street shout-singing Van Morrison in no time, as if nothing ever happened. La-dee-dahs echo back to Eddie as he turns the corner. Eddie can’t help but wonder, fingers pressed to his mouth, if Richie is singing to drown out goodbye, or something else.

But it doesn’t matter, because Sonia is back in no time, and Eddie has to finish packing the car. They leave soon after that, too soon, and he can’t stop touching his lips. As if he might be able to mimic the already fleeting sensation. His mom tells him to stop picking or he’ll get a cold sore.

***

“Are you okay?” Bill asked, poised on the threshold of the guest room.

“I think I’m still hungover,” Eddie grumbled, his pillow swallowing up most of his noise. He probably wasn’t actually hungover; maybe he imagined his prolonged headache just like he imagined all his other ailments. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.

“I’m going to Mike’s. Stan and Richie might come,” Bill mentioned, inclining his head. “Do you want to? We’re just going to hang out. No booze.”

Judging by the light shining behind his pink eyelids, it was still very much daytime. At Mike’s farm, there wasn’t really anything to do but be outside, and Eddie wasn’t sure he could handle that right now. Especially not with the added stress of barnyard stench.

“No thanks,” Eddie confessed, shifting away from the warm indentation he left in his pillow, to give Bill an apologetic look. Three days into his fleeting vacation, and he was already turning down opportunities to see his friends. Eddie should have jumped at every chance. Make his mark while he still could, lest everyone forget each other again.

But he didn’t jump. He barely even moved. Bill, at least, didn’t seem upset, nodding as if he understood the cocktail of chemicals that manifested as emotions, which then manifested as maladies, in Eddie’s body.

“Well, we’ll miss you. Next time, okay?”

“Okay.” Thank god it didn’t require a promise or anything, since Eddie had a personal obligation to follow through with the ones he made to Bill. Though, really, he should have had a personal obligation to himself, not to squander this week over something so stupid.

“My parents are at work, so I hope you don’t mind being by yourself for a while,” Bill mentioned.

“No offense Big Bill, but I probably wasn’t going to strike up a conversation with Sharon and Zack anyway.”

That at least got a smile out of Bill, who surrendered with a nod, and finally abandoned the doorway. Eddie stared into the hall, breathing hard to stave the sensation of a missed opportunity. There would be other days. They were coming and going a bit too fast, but there were still some to spare.

Eddie rolled over, alone in a room that wasn’t his, in a house that wasn’t his. It might as well have been his dormitory. He never thought being back here would feel so lonely. Derry was a lot of awful things, but never lonely. Why did all the change suck so much worse than what he started with?

At some point, Eddie forced himself up so he could take some more aspirin, and eat. Bill was long gone by then, the house hot and empty. Eddie found the thermostat, but didn’t dare touch it. Mr. Denbrough was a certain flavor of asshole that Eddie wasn’t super interested in invoking, as much as he might have appreciated the relief of the AC at full power. To think, it wasn’t even April. A healthy dose of humiliation could supply enough heat for the coldest winters.

Without Bill to serve pancakes like he was practicing to be a 50s housewife, Eddie opted for milk and stale cheerios, setting his place with napkin, spoon, and glass of water, likely more than anyone his age could be bothered. Before he could shovel the soggy oats into his mouth though, contemplating the best way to get Richie’s bike back to his house without him noticing, the doorbell rang, tolling throughout the house. Eddie was not prepared to receive mail, Girl Scouts, or god forbid, evangelists.

The jackass outside jammed down on the button incessantly, filling the Denbrough household with a funhouse cacophony of noise. Someone was looking to get the shit beat out of them (and Eddie wasn’t above clocking a Girl Scout).

Shoving away from the table, Eddie sprang up and marched to the front door just as he was. Hair uncombed, a T-shirt and flannel bottoms serving as last night’s pajamas. If he glared just right, it might all be enough to turn the solicitor away.

But as Eddie wrenched the door open, and the ringing stopped, he stifled all his forward momentum at the sight of Richie Tozier. In the flesh. A days old version of the person Eddie had reacquainted himself with in the Barrens.

He couldn’t gawk like an idiot forever though; before Eddie could wonder if a deity was playing a trick on him, Richie opened his mouth - which, to be fair, should have been expected. Master of the first _and_ last word, and all that.

“Oh, score, I thought I’d have to go through Mr. Denbrough,” Riche started, the corner of his mouth creeping up to his ear in an admittedly reserved smile. “You won’t boot my ass off the porch, will you Eds?”

“Bill isn’t here,” Eddie answered ineffectively, completely discombobulated by his misfire of emotions. It even took his pulse a couple seconds to catch up and start pounding. “He went to meet you guys at the Hanlon farm.”

“Uh, yeah, I know. That was like, a couple hours ago.”

Damn. Only three days into break and Eddie was already at a loss for time and day, among other things. This usually only happened over summer.

“So, uh, listen.” Richie sounded as exuberant as ever, but as he slid his glasses up his face, hemming and hawing all the while, Eddie fixated on a note of confusion in his voice. “So like, me and Bill were at Mike’s, and he says to me, ‘Did Eddie give you your bike back?’ and I’m like ‘What in the hell are you talking about?’, and then Bill is like ‘Well Eddie said he borrowed your-’”

“You don’t have to keep going,” Eddie said, voice strained by his throat’s efforts to close up on him. The last thing he needed was the monologue of his own play-by-play narrated by Trashmouth Tozier.

“Okay, so you did!” Richie exclaimed, lifting his hands enthusiastically, only to drop them against his shorts. Eddie could not for the life of him pinpoint what emotion Richie was wearing. “‘Excellent. Cause also, like, my mom said you came by on a bike, looking for me, askin’ if I lost something, and I’m no detective but that sounds a lot like you stole my bike, and I’m not gonna lie, that’s _kinda_ weird, even for you.”

“Are you mad?” Eddie honestly couldn’t tell. Was this how anger manifested on Richie, outside desperate times and desperate measures? Fuck if he knew.

“What, no. Course not. I haven’t cared about that hunka’ junk since I learned how to drive.”

It wasn’t exactly the answer Eddie wanted. In fact, he sort of preferred a _yes_. Any kind of outrageous reaction. That’s what his Psych professor said, and that’s what he had been aiming for.

Richie hadn’t even come in, still planted on the welcome mat, swaying with restless energy. His hands fiddled with the buttons on his printed shirt. One of the fastens was missing, so he pulled the thread left behind instead. “I guess I’m just wondering, _what the fuck_ , because it’s the first time I’ve seen you in years and this isn’t really what I expected. Last thing I thought you were was a klepto. Unless you picked that up in N-Y-C. You a pickpocket, Eds? Must have big pockets to fit my old bike in there.”

Eddie’s untold desires had somehow become real - or at least, the closest realistic manifestation of them. It wasn’t perfect, but honestly, what ever was? Right then, he could have spelled everything out with terrible clarity. Dig up all those memories that Richie had apparently forgotten, confront him about that dumb kiss from four years ago. Eddie had no idea about results, but he hardly had any idea about anything ever, the metaphorical rug doing constant somersaults beneath his helpless feet, tripping him up. So it didn’t matter.

Instead of any of that, he lied out his ass.

“I got tired of walking home, the other night,” Eddie murmured, seconds away from banging his head against the door admonishingly. “I didn’t think you would mind. I mean, it was just sitting there. That’s all there is to it.”

“Well at least _someone’s_ getting some use out of it. Y’know, my mom’s been telling me to sell it for months. You know what I told her? I said I can’t sell it, because Eddie Kaspbrak’s gotta cart his sorry, hammered butt home with it this March.” Richie guffawed all on his own, leaving Eddie to roll his eyes.

“Sure you did.” Despite the traitorous rate of his own heartbeat, Eddie was having an incredibly easy time finding his snark.

Richie, completely unaware of the internal dilemma going on right in front of him, just beamed. “You mind if I just grab her real quick? She’s not supposed to be out after dark. I gotta punish her for going out with boys, god knows where - on a school night!”

“Yeah yeah yeah whatever. I’m pretty sure you can just haul up the garage door, no problem.”

“Thanks, Eds! You’re a peach.” Richie retreated down the steps without much more than that, two at a time. As if he could possibly be in any hurry at all, bound in whatever direction wasn’t right in front of Eddie.

Taking a better glance at the van parked at the Denbrough’s curb, now in all its pre-owned glory in the light of day, Eddie shut himself up inside, figuring for good reason that that was the end of that. In his pajamas, without even his teeth brushed, there wasn’t much he could do anyway. Just the thought of having answered the door and carried on a full conversation so indecently was enough to have him scaling to the second floor, toothbrush and clean clothes taking precedence over anything else he could have possibly been doing.

_There will be other days,_ Eddie reminded himself, for the umpteenth time. Combing his hair in the bathroom mirror offered a window into what his face decided to look like when he got down on himself. Other days. As if he hadn’t already spent _years_ waiting for a single second to reunite with his friends. With Richie.

He used to fight for the now. _It’s summer!_ Now wasn’t summer, but it wasn’t much different, a break from school to make the most of. And he was failing miserably. As if the past had eluded him so much that he completely gave up on the present and anything to come after it. He begged the powers at be for an opportunity to see his friends again, a break from school and the driving forces that sent him careening toward adulthood faster than he could keep up with. And here it was, Spring Break, of all things. The word _Break_ was even in the title!

What the hell was Eddie doing combing his hair?

Dropping the comb to clatter against the porcelain sink, Eddie turned around, practically flinging himself through the open bathroom door. As if he hadn’t just been judging Richie for the same thing, he took the stairs two at a time, which turned out to be a bad idea, since the railing barely saved him from landing on his face at the bottom. He bounced back like a champ, carrying himself all the way across the foyer to yank open the door like it personally offended him.

Richie’s van was still there, doors flung open to make room for his rusty bicycle. Bent at the waist as he attempted to push the thing in at an angle that wouldn’t decapitate him while he was driving, there was no way he could have seen Eddie. But he was just loud enough in just about everything he did to have the four-eyed dumbass’s eyes on him before he’d even crossed the lawn.

“Oh, Spaghettios! You clean up goo-”

Eddie grabbed either side of Richie’s shirt, and hauled himself forward. Mustering all the courage only an overactive Tozier could truly be capable of, he smashed his face against Richie’s, the reflection of so many years ago.

Opting to keep his lips smushed shut instead of muttering _ow_ when their noses banged together painfully, Eddie decided dutifully that he was no less unseasoned than he had been when he was sixteen. There he was, an adult by all means, butting up against Richie’s lips with his lips and calling it a kiss. Since he had apparently decided being seen wouldn’t kill him, the self-inflicted shame would probably do the job instead.

For all this unusual, brash behavior, the moment Richie reciprocated, it was as good as over. Eddie gasped and reeled back, like he had been burned. Truthfully, he was just surprised - how dare Richie have the gall to do something other than sit there like a dead fish.

They stared at each other for a beat of silence. Eddie’s face, his entire body, was warmer than ever, now in shades of scarlet. The first words out of Richie were a breathless, completely unexpected _Good gracious_.

“Alright, it’s cool, no big deal,” Richie went on. “I’ve waited longer for sequels. _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ took twelve years, this ain’t nothing.”

“You _do_ remember!” Eddie blurted out, close to shrieking as everything came to fruition. Planets collided behind his eyes and all he could do was splay his hands out in front of Richie. At the very, _very_ least, the pink flush in pale freckled cheeks was gratifying, almost enough to make him laugh. It took a kiss to make Trashmouth Tozier blush!

“Of course I remember! I remember all my greatest hits.” Like he didn’t even know the meaning of the word _flustered_ , Richie scoffed sarcastically. “I mean, that’s a pretty big thing to forget, Eddie.”

“You’d think.” Huffing through his clenched teeth, Eddie shook his head. “Everyone’s forgetting everything. Bill doesn’t remember important shit when I bring it up and everyone’s acting like nothing ever happened before this year. It’s all college and what girls you fucked and what girls you didn’t and I don’t even know what _I_ could be forgetting-”

“Hey, hey!” Richie’s long fingers came around Eddie’s wrists, before he could start ripping hair out with how hard he was raking his hands through his scalp. He had no choice but to look up, nothing between him and Richie but a couple inches and a thick pair of glasses.

“What?” Eddie bit out, embarrassed by how raw his voice was already.

Then, in perhaps the softest voice Eddie had ever heard out of Richie, he whispered: “I could never forget about you.”

Eddie remembered those first words in the Barrens that week, how terrified he had been, for a second so fast he could barely process it. _Who’s your buddy?_ It had been a joke. Richie’s least funny, by far.

“I thought you hated it,” Richie confessed, still clutched around Eddie’s hands. “Which like, who can blame you? But I was hoping, if that’s how it was, maybe we really could just forget about it. Just that one thing. It was stupid, anyway. What kind of jerk-off waits until the literal last minute anyway? My comedic timing is way better than that.”

There was too much to pick apart around the important stuff coming out of Richie’s incessant mouth, but Eddie managed. “I don’t want to forget about it,” he said, twisting enough to slip out of Richie’s grip. He’d already forgotten enough, things that he wasn’t even realizing at that moment, and might not ever.

“Whatever you say, dude.” There wasn’t really anything to argue about after that. They stood there just as awkward as a moment ago, even as a new energy rose in Eddie’s bones.

Certain that there was only one way to release it, Eddie tipped forward again, quick enough to align their mouths. Richie was ready for him this time, receiving Eddie with gusto, hands curving around his waist. It wasn’t as pinched and puckered as before, but still chaste, soft. To the point where Eddie was almost afraid to move his mouth.

But he was perfectly happy to let it linger that way. It was an affirmation, and that was all he needed. Evidence that some things were just too big to forget. This was so big, it threatened to burst out of him.

“I’m sorry for stealing your bike,” he murmured when they separated, though plenty of touching lingered. “It was dumb, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“No sweat, kiddo,” Richie said, all toothy smiles now. “I _never_ think, it’s too much of a liability. Hell, I’m willing to let you keep her, so long as you treat her right. Like a once-bitten-twice-shy lover. Be gentle, will you?”

“No thank you,” Eddie snorted. “Besides, I can’t bring it on the train home.”

That particular phrase didn’t sit well, bringing along with it the recollection that he’d be gone from Derry before he knew it. Tragic, with all he had come to learn in the last few minutes. But Eddie couldn’t quite say he would miss Derry as a place, either. Not even the people. Just some of them.

One in particular, growing and changing without him.

“I dunno what you’re supposed to do with it though,” he went on, eyeing the bike, halfway between the ground and the carpeted interior of Richie’s van. “I mean, at least don’t fucking leave it laying out in the open, okay? You got a kickstand for that. I know you have one, I’ve seen it.”

“Well ex _cuse_ me! Of all the things you’ve ever harangued me about, Eddie darling, this is not on my list of favorites.” Slipping away, Richie paused to ruffle a hand through Eddie’s newly, neatly combed hair, and drag his bike back out of the van.

“Maybe I’ll take it for a spin, for old times sake. Shouldn’t be too hard to remember how to handle her, it’s just like riding a bike - oh!” He snickered at his own joke, wheeling all the way out to the side of the street, in front of his van. Eddie stood there, dumb and useless, awed and relieved by the mere mention of another memory.

Swinging a long leg over the seat, Richie looked just about ready to take off. Until, he paused.

“You coming?” he called, much louder than he needed. “Last I checked, we both managed to fit on this thing. My ass is just skinny enough for your fat tush, I think.”

“Oh, get fucked, Richie.” Somehow, that insult just didn’t seem to be all that effective at that moment, what with Richie grinning at him like he expected a follow-through. Even then, nothing could really deter Eddie from striding forward, reaching out for grabby hands that really only succeeded in pulling him fast enough to stumble over his own shoes.

“What do you say, Eds?” Richie asked as they got settled, Eddie’s arms situated snugly around his waist. _Fitting_ was a bit of an exaggeration, and with neither of them willing to test the length of the seat, they both stayed standing, one behind the other. “Down the rabbit hole, or second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning?”

“How about, around the block,” Eddie answered - though for reasons he kept to himself, the latter option didn’t sound to bad

The threat of being seen was there, but it had always been, in every stupid thing they did. Richie urged Eddie to sit, and balancing on the bike pedals, kicked off. He leaned over the handlebars in an effort to distribute weight, lurching from side to side until Richie learned - remembered - how to carry both of them. The added weight meant he couldn’t go very fast, but Eddie held on tight anyway, just because he could.

They made it around the block, and then went again. And again, and again, with no real reason or desire to leave the suburbs. Riding the same damn corners as if they had never been there before, and every turn was a new path to discover. More than anything, Eddie was perfectly happy just to _re_ discover. It didn’t matter where he would be in a week, or a month, or a year. All that mattered was the solitary, constantly fleeting present second. It was as close as he would get to back then.

If he closed his eyes, it was back then. There were only so many ways he could feel the wind on his face, the squeak of tires, the whine of metal joints. Knowing Bill, Stanley, Ben, Beverly, and Mike weren’t around them was just enough not to open his eyes.

Finding the cotton plane of Richie’s shirt beyond his eyelids wasn’t so bad either, though.

“How you holding up?” Richie called over his shoulder. “Not too cold, are you? Derry’s such a bitch in March.”

“No,” Eddie said, keeping his smile all to himself. “I’m alright.” For the first time since he arrived, the warmth spread through his body was nothing but comfortable. If there was a cure to this, Eddie didn’t want it.


End file.
